


Should You Choose To Accept It

by MyMisguidedFairytale



Series: light reading [12]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Canon Compliant, Contests, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Humor, Pre-Canon, Workplace Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMisguidedFairytale/pseuds/MyMisguidedFairytale
Summary: “Let’s each steal one article of clothing from one male member of the Zodiac Twelve.” Cheadle knew it wasn’t going to be easy–especially not when the others picked her target for her. / Pariston x Cheadle





	Should You Choose To Accept It

**Author's Note:**

> _Should You Choose To Accept It_ was originally written and published on July 29, 2014 on [tumblr](https://cheadle-yorkshire.tumblr.com/post/93162975757/fanfiction-hunter-x-hunter-should-you-choose).
> 
> Everything below is preserved as it was originally posted:
> 
> **Title** : Should You Choose To Accept It  
>  **Pairing** : Cheadle x Pariston  
>  **Word Count** : 2784  
>  **Summary** : “Let’s each steal one article of clothing from one male member of the Zodiac Twelve.” Cheadle knew it wasn’t going to be easy–especially not when the others picked her target for her.  
>  **A/N** : Takes place post- _Mise-en-scène_ and pre- _Should Old Acquaintance Be Forgot?_ Also contains an oblique reference to _Inkblots_. This falls…more under the crack umbrella than the other stories I’ve written for this pairing. Enjoy!

**__** __

_**Should You Choose To Accept It** _

“I call this meeting to order!” Cluck’s words are lost to the noise of the bar within seconds, but the other two women seated around the low, circular table raise their glasses and join her in a toast.

“Here, here!” Piyon needs two hands to lift her drink, the shape of the glass reminiscent of a goldfish-bowl, filled with some kind of blue slush mixture and topped with pieces of fruit. On her left, Geru sips at her glass of wine.

“We shouldn’t start without Cheadle.” Her disapproval is short-lived, and she rolls her eyes at Cluck. “And you don’t need to say that _every_ time we meet for drinks.”

“Your concerns are duly noted and have been dismissed. I’ve got to get my fun in somehow.” The music changes to something with a stronger beat, and Cluck begins nodding her head in time to the rhythm. “What would Cheadle say if she was here? Something about how _work should be fun if you do what you love. Cluck_.” She does her best Cheadle impression, scrunching up her nose.

“Strange. This is usually the part where she’s right behind me,” Cluck continues with a shrug, downing the rest of her drink. “I wonder what’s keeping her.”

“If you want fun, how about we have a little competition? We’re Hunters, let’s go hunt something. But for fun.” Geru makes the suggestion.

“Like what?” Cluck asks.

“How about the boys?” Piyon hides her expression behind a wedge of pineapple, coated with blue slush.

Geru makes a disgusted noise deep in her throat. “I said _for fun, Piyon_. Our coworkers are hardly—”

“No, no, she’s on to something.” Cluck leans forward, resting both hands against the tabletop. “Let’s each steal one article of clothing from one male member of the Zodiac Twelve.”

There are a few seconds of silence as each of them digest this proposal, before Cluck loudly stakes her target.

“Kanzai.”

“Oh, no fair.” Piyon pouts. “Fine. Mizaistom.”

Geru takes her time, a look of deep contemplation dragging her mouth into a frown. “What do we get if we win?”

“Losers have to pay for the winners drinks. For a month,” Piyon suggests.

“Deal,” Geru says. “And I pick Ging Freecs.”

Cluck erupts into a series of choking coughs; Piyon whacks her on the back until they subside. Fixing Geru with her most incredulous stare, Cluck is sure she’s heard wrong. “What?”

“I said I wanted to hunt something,” she replies calmly. “And I like a challenge.”

“So, that’s settled. Another toast to my future victory!” Cluck raises her nearly-empty glass.

“Not quite.” Piyon prods another hunk of pineapple with her bendy straw. “Cheadle still isn’t here. And you _know_ she’s not going to approve.”

An evil smile stretches across Cluck’s face as she looks at the other two.

“Oh no.”

“Oh _yes_.” Cluck adopts her best Cheadle-posture, sitting with her back perfectly straight and folding her hands in her lap. “ _We_ get to pick for her. _I can’t believe you forgot the meeting agendas_.” She pauses for effect, finishing her impression with Cheadle’s customary salutation. “ _Rat_.”

“She’s going to kill you,” Piyon says calmly.

“She’s going to be buying my drinks for the next month.”

“Speaking of…” Geru glances over towards the entrance, where Cheadle is making her way through the crowd towards their little table. Cheadle greets them all with a warm smile as she settles into the open spot next to Geru.

“Sorry I’m late. Everyone.”

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be.”

Cheadle’s ears twitch. “What?”

“You tell her, Geru. This whole competition was _your_ idea, after all,” she says with a smug smile.

Unruffled, Geru flags down a passing waitress to get Cheadle’s order before speaking. “We’ve decided to compete amongst each other by stealing an article of clothing—”

“— _any_ article,” Cluck interrupts with an eyebrow waggle.

“Ew.” Geru clears her throat. “As I was saying—by stealing an article of clothing from another member of the Zodiac Twelve. The losers have to pay for the winners’ drinks for a month. And _Cluck_ has decided that your target will be Pariston.”

“…Ew.” Cheadle echoes Geru’s sentiment, and spends a few moments deep in thought. “Who else is avail—”

“Hon, if you forfeit now, that’s an instant loss! And then I’m having another round.” Cluck grins as Cheadle’s drink arrives; she ignores it in favor of continuing to think.

“Come on, if _anyone_ can do it, it’s you,” Cluck continues.

“…What’s _that_ supposed to mean? Rooster.” Cheadle looks at Cluck from over her drink, her voice completely flat.

“Nothing! Nothing! I don’t envy you for a moment. And even if you can’t get anything, you’ll at least have a fantastic story to tell, right?”

“…Right,” she agrees after a pause. “I’m in. Not that I have much choice. Traitors.”

“Great! Let’s toast on it.”

As they lift their glasses and clink them together, a sinking feeling grows in Cheadle’s stomach as she thinks of her new mission, and her new target. That is normal; Pariston typically inspires that kind of feeling, but this one is accompanied by a greater sense of unease—she’s never sought out his company before. They’d only ever interacted in a work setting, and even then she tries to avoid him if at all possible. The others were much friendlier, and they often trained together or hung out together—a perfect setting for executing their missions. But this would require a great deal of subtlety and thought…

Realizing that she shouldn’t really be giving this much attention towards acquiring a piece of Pariston’s clothing, Cheadle resolves to put the matter aside for the time being and just enjoy her evening. If a situation came up organically she would take advantage of it. She finds the thought distasteful of devoting more time and energy than that towards someone like _Pariston_.

She looks up, just catching the tail end of Cluck and Geru’s bickering.

“—And if you bring us back like, a shoe, you’re immediately disqualified. New rule. And you—”

Geru: “No new rules! But I should think it’d be impressive to steal an opponent’s shoe from right underneath their nose—”

Piyon giggles. “People don’t wear shoes under their noses…”

“Ok!” Cluck slams a fist onto the table, almost upsetting Cheadle’s drink. “I declare this mission rank to be difficulty level D!”

“You sure? This seems like a C-rank at least…”

“Piyon, your target is easy. Suggestion dismissed!”

“ _And_ ,” Cluck continues, “you must complete your mission by next week’s meeting of the Hunter Women’s Group, at this time. Failure to complete your mission by then will result in a loss!”

Cheadle snatches up her glass as Cluck bangs on the table again with her fist.

“Meeting adjourned!”

* * *

The next few days go by in a blur of activity. The members of the Zodiac Twelve who remain long-term in Swaldani City are hard at work planning the upcoming Hunter Exam, and Cheadle barely has a moment to herself, let alone a moment to contemplate how to get in a position to steal something of Pariston’s.

_Ugh_. She wrinkles her nose at the very thought. The others are being awfully quiet about the status of their own ‘missions’—with one exception, when Kanzai had burst through the doors to the conference room one day before a meeting, loudly proclaiming that someone had stolen his jersey right out of his gym locker that morning, and that the others had better help him find the culprit. No one paid him any attention, but Cluck had given Cheadle a wink, and her smug smile hadn’t diminished since.

The large, open office where she works is blessedly empty. Until the doors open and someone with soft, even footsteps walks inside. Confident footsteps. And then there’s the thick smell of cologne that hits her from five feet away.

“My dear Cheadle!” Pariston leans over her desk, a broad smile on his face. The suit he’s wearing is patterned with starbursts, but strangely enough, the dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top and he wears no tie. “I require your assistance with a most urgent matter!”

She considers telling him to _get lost_ , but his smile is so wide and so pleading and he’s leaning closer and closer with every passing second, like her favor can be obtained with just the right amount of persistence. She swears his eyes are sparkling.

So, instead, in the gruffest voice she can manage, she calls out, “What is it?”

“Come, come!” He extends a hand, stepping just far enough away that she’ll have to make an effort to reach him. Not that she would. She wants to remind him that that was _not_ an answer—but really, why did she expect she’d receive one?—and finally stands, sighing loudly for effect, and follows him down the hallway.

They’re standing before a set of closed office doors, the ones to what should have been Pariston’s office, and when he opens them and walks inside she pauses in the threshold, almost unable to believe her eyes. Almost.

The whole room smells of fresh paint. It’s preferable to Pariston’s choice of cologne, almost, but next she notices the new carpeting. And the new, wooden desk, stained a dark color to offset the lighter, neutral tones throughout the rest of the room. It’s still not entirely complete—a few framed paintings rest against the side of the desk, which is empty of all but a closed laptop, and there’s a walk-in closet further down, its open door revealing a large stack of boxes. The style is very minimalist, the layout of the room structured to give anyone visiting a sense of intimidation while allowing, once again, a perfect view of both the windows and the hallway outside from the desk.

Cheadle’s eye twitches. “You…were renovating…”

She doesn’t know what else to say. The absolute _nerve_. She’d known it was suspicious when he insisted on continuing to work out in the open office area, but she assumed it was so he could keep watch on everyone else, not because he was…redecorating the place.

“Do you like it?” Pariston’s beaming smile seems to grow even wider at Cheadle’s complete disinterest.

Then, something occurs to her. “Did the Association pay for this?”

“It was one of the line items in the budget everyone approved last month. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”

She hadn’t, and she’ll never let such a thing happen again. “So, what’s this urgent matter you need my help with?”

“Ah!” He brightens, like he’s completely forgotten about that in his excitement to show off his new office. He moves behind his desk; there is a rustling noise as he sifts through some small boxes perched on his chair. He resurfaces with two ties, one in a garish animal-print, the other patterned with tone-on-tone geometric shapes.

“I couldn’t decide, and I thought I might seek out the assistance of my fashionable friend.”

How he says that with a straight face Cheadle will never know, and she points towards the animal-print one and flatly says, “Pariston, I promise you, no one _cares_ about your wardrobe.”

He drops both ties to his desk, and reaches up to lift the edges of his collar up. “Would you mind?”

It’s like he hasn’t been listening to a single word she said. “No. I mean, yes, I do mind.”

He pauses. “Which is it, again?”

Realizing her opportunity, Cheadle adopts a haughty expression and says, “Actually, they’re both equally hideous. Don’t you have anything better?”

His eyebrows rise, and he does little to conceal the pleased look creeping its way across his face. Cheadle feels her face growing hot, and she looks away with a huff. Really, the things she’s doing for this stupid bet.

“I think I have some more in the back. Let me check. It’ll only take a moment.” He seems to skip towards the closet, frowning at the low wall of boxes before stepping over one and disappearing inside.

The second he’s out of view she grabs the animal-print tie and runs out of his office. She doesn’t stop, heading straight out of the headquarters building and into the city center. She still has a few hours to kill until she’s to reconvene with the others at the bar where they’d agreed to hold this week’s meeting. This time, it’s a hotel bar of Geru’s suggestion, and Cheadle knows the hotel in question is attached to a large shopping arcade. It’s there she spends her free time, embarrassment and risk keeping her from remaining any longer in the shadow of the Association headquarters. She’s not sure how she’ll explain herself if she’s caught.

Luckily, she isn’t, but she still spends a few hours looking over her shoulder at every turn and hiding in the bookstore until it’s time. When she walks into the bar—a much classier, brighter place than the one they met in last week, and they’ve reserved a private room according to Geru—she sees the others already there.

Geru twirls Ging Freecs’s hat from one finger, frowning at it. As Cheadle settles down in an empty chair beside her, she has to ask, “How exactly did you manage that?”

“I have my ways.” Turning back to the hat, she wrinkles her nose. “Do you think he’s ever washed this?”

The inside of the brim is stained from sweat. Cheadle has to agree. “Tell him the dry cleaner’s has it.”

“Good idea.” She sets it down and reaches instead for her drink.

Across the table, Piyon’s exchanged her ears for Mizaistom’s hat; it’s falling down a little over her eyebrows, and she pushes it up with one hand.

“So,” Cheadle turns to her, “how did you get that?”

“He has five of them,” Piyon answers, matter-of-factly. “Did you know that? At his house. Each one has a slightly different pattern.”

Huh. She’d never noticed.

Then Cluck interrupts, “Wait, wait, you broke into his _house_?”

Piyon merely shrugs, sucking up a big mouthful of her frozen drink, this one a strawberry daiquiri served in a tall, curved glass.

Cluck, for her part, sets out the jersey she’d taken from Kanzai’s locker, then the three of them turn towards Cheadle. “So…” Cluck begins, “did you do it?”

The tie had felt like it was burning a hole through her pocket all afternoon. She throws it down on the table a little harder than necessary, doing her best to ignore the curious, impressed murmurs the others are exchanging.

Cluck, begrudgingly impressed, reaches out and pokes the tie. “What did I tell you? I knew you could do it! Spill, girl! We need details.”

“I hate you all.”

“—Or would you rather hear the story of how I broke into the men’s locker room—”

“Spare us, please,” Geru says with a sigh. “Now what are we supposed to do with these?”

Cluck eyes the tie. “Burn them.”

While the others bicker about what to do with the items—Piyon’s of the mind that they should exchange them all, and just watch what happens—Cheadle’s phone buzzes. She sees the text message alert, and absently scrolls through the list of messages to read it. She sees the sender and freezes. _Pariston_.

His message is brief and to-the-point and crashes down upon her like a wave of indignity.

_My dear Cheadle! I don’t know why you decided to take my tie, but I’d like it back. You may return it tomorrow evening at seven o’clock at the Xaga restaurant on 1047 Wicker Street. The reservation is under my name_.

She stares at the message, re-reading it a second time to make sure she hasn’t hallucinated the entire thing. Then, her gaze travels to the tie, the silk gleaming under the dim lighting. Like it’s mocking her.

The others haven’t noticed how quiet Cheadle’s become, and when she looks up she reaches for her glass and takes a big, prolonged drink.

“You know,” Geru says, suddenly, “since we all won, what are we going to do now?”

It’s Piyon who volunteers a solution. “…Tiebreaker?”

“ _No_ ,” Cheadle insists firmly, and to her relief none of the others contest the issue. “Let’s each take turns picking up the tab, then.”

No one really likes that idea, but when Cheadle volunteers to go first they accept with only the barest of reluctance. She doesn’t mind, and the eventual bill ends up being much smaller than they normally would have spent, otherwise.

They lift their glasses and clink them together; that sinking feeling returns as Cheadle thinks of her new mission, and her target. Dinner. Tomorrow evening. With Pariston.

Difficulty rank C, at least.

* * *

_To Be Continued…_

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments. Who knows, there might be more of this someday? ;D


End file.
